


Kylo Ren: Things Left Undone

by skysonfire



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Adam Driver - Freeform, F/M, Jedi, Kylo Ren's Past, One Shot, One Shot Collection, Smut with a Story, Star Wars References, Starkiller Base, The First Order, The Rebellion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-28
Updated: 2016-02-28
Packaged: 2018-05-23 17:38:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6124756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skysonfire/pseuds/skysonfire





	Kylo Ren: Things Left Undone

She’s always cold off planet, and she shakes as she waits, her arms wrapped about herself — strips of heated flesh that offer no real relief. Her feet and palms sweat, her skin raised and puckered. She tugs gently against the laces of her vest and shifts her weight on her boots. She’s always idling and dallying, or running in wild circles throughout the universe, chasing a phantom hunger — an anger that drives her. It’s a force, but there are whispers in her mind – truths that she won’t admit.

The past is the past; some things cannot be undone. He doesn’t know you anymore.

“No,” she pleads with a low tone, fighting away her own thoughts, the things of which she is truly afraid. Her voice is a struggled pitch and there are tears choking the air at the back of her throat. After all, it can’t be like this. They had grown together, and she loved him before she knew what love was. They were to be Jedi — they showed so much promise and it was so clear; the path ahead so starry bright and confident. She never questioned her destiny. With him by her side she was untouchable, so strong, the blood in her so vital, her movements and breath so important. Everything had been so necessary.

In these moments, though, she wilts and caves. The whole of her body feels like it’s being drawn inward, and the pull of space outside the panoramic window behind which she stands beckons her. There is a pronounced aching in her chest, and she raises a quaking palm up to the tempered pane, resting her prints on the cold dark. Out there she could disappear. Out there …

The soft breath of the door and sound of his boots against the polished floor betray him, but he isn’t intent on hiding. These ships are his home now – these temporary places that jitney him back and forth from his snowy home.

His energy is hard and she feels the push of his presence against her back. There’s nothing warm about it, not like it had been. He doesn’t want her near him, and knowing that suffices to squelch anything left alive inside of her. She watches his reflection in the window, amongst the blue lights of his quarters and the frozen light of the stars.

“I could have killed you,” he says, stoically. 

She breathes in, the air like razors against her throat. “But you didn’t,” she responds, sadly, and turns.

He drops his gloves on a small table next to one of the chaise lounges that appoint the space. She considers they may have very well be the first things to ever touch the cushion. His quarters are icy and unused. Nothing about it spoke of living. It feels to her like a mausoleum — a formality for visitors so that pain and grief would be less abrupt and terrifying.

She watches him shed his scarf, hood and helmet, and he quickly brushes the inky waves from his forehead. His angular features are pale as they’ve ever been and a sheen touches his cheeks and beneath his eyes. The humanity left within him, which seeps out before her, makes her heart swell, and without conscious effort, she advances toward him and against the threatening push of his existence.

“You look …” The volume of her voice surprises her, and she clears her throat before continuing. “Exhausted, Kylo.” 

It feels strange, this new adage. She wonders if he would call her anything at all, or if he even recalled her name.

The yellow-green glow of his stare narrows for only a moment before a half smile coats his expression, decorating the side of his face with a laugh line that she adores so much. He unfastens his saber and places it carefully on the side table, speedily regaining composure from his feigned amusement.

“Sit,” he says. “You look like you’ve come a long way.”

She does as he bids her, never breaking her sight from his face. She hovers on the edge of the chaise, her hands resting robotically on her thighs. 

“I know why you’re here,” he says, sitting closely beside her.

“No,” she snaps, her eyes alight with the fury on which she had traveled. “No, you don’t.” Her voice and heart steady.

He breathes out slowly through his nose and kneads his bottom lip passively with his teeth.

“Then tell me why.” He laughs before continuing. “It’s a bold move, sending you here to negotiate. Alone.” He emphasizes the last word and leans in toward her, his arm moving behind her, his hand flat against the cushion. She can feel it, though, a slight quaking in his wrist as it holds his weight there, so close to the heat of her body.

“No one knows that I’m here, Kylo.”

She glances up from her hands, growing so cold on her thighs, and their faces hover inches away, and their eyes dance like rain on the wind.

She whispers, “The next time we see one another,” but he blocks her speech as he presses his kiss against her mouth so gently, and she feels it — the electricity that courses between them, the mutual understanding of their connection, so fierce, and the degree of their pain, so raw. She can’t help herself, and she wrestles back and against him, her hands grappling for his face, her eyes damming shut against the onslaught of emotion. She tastes him for the first time, but she already knew what it would be like — she’s dreamt of the taste before — something so heady and sweet and poisonous and tragic. He was like the grass under their young feet; the hot breeze of their training; the gravity of all the worlds.

She breaks away from him, her eyes remaining shut, and her fingers trace along the cuts of his cheekbones and over the warm dots that dapple his face.

“The next time we see one another,” she echoes the echo of her voice. “The universe will be on fire.”

He searches her for a moment, but pulls at her waist and places his mouth on the side of her neck where the blood pumps the hardest, and he bites at her, hard enough to threaten her skin with breakage. She gasps, and the adrenaline surges through her body. The tiny hairs on the back of her neck are up and there’s a pulsing between her legs. It pulses so hard that it hurts.

He urges her onto her back and braces her wrists above her head with his large hand. She juts her hips against him and he rubs severely over the layers that conceal her sex, but he is already under her clothes — his power is so strong, and she can feel him tightening under all the black that he wears.

“Tell me, why are you here,” he says, working his fingers against her even more keenly. She begins to struggle against his grip; she wants so badly to feel him – to know that he’s still real.

“Is this an interrogation, then?” She queries, her voice taught and pitched slightly higher than before.

“No,” he says. “I would never treat you that way.”

He releases her wrists, but she remains as she is. His face is cold and lamenting, but his eyes are black with the size of his pupils.

“Still,” he begins to untie the laces on her vest. “You’ll tell me everything before you leave.”


End file.
